


The New Normal

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Depression, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hiding Medical Issues, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Safewords, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Athena's adjusting to her new life with Janey, while struggling with access to antidepressants.





	The New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the 'hiding medical issues' tag. Athena demonstrates some very good ways of how _not_ to deal with mental health.
> 
> Set between the Pre-Sequel and Tales from the Borderlands. Concrit and critique are always appreciated.
> 
> Many thanks to [BigDickens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdickens) for cheering and betaing this fic, all the way from when it was a shared set of headcanons to a choppy second draft mess. <3

Athena crinkles the coffee filter as she adds the grounds. She puts the spoon back in the can, plastic scraping metal, and tamps the lid. She wipes her hand against her trousers, but the bitterness lingers on her palms as she sets the timer for the morning brew.

This is part of her routine, now. A new normal.

Another part of normal—the old normal—is sitting in the cabinet, between the mugs and Janey’s sleepy-time tea. The mugs and tea are part of the new normal too, but the orange plastic vial with the faded yellow label is an old friend. She flips the bottle upright, counting the capsules.

Athena’s relationship with her medication has outlasted any other, so far. Being a Lance Assassin wasn’t easy on the dating life, and being a bounty hunter wasn’t any easier. She’d always been prone to inward moods, thoughts circling themselves like dirty water down a drain, but she hadn’t thought she _needed_ anything until Jess died.

Truth whispers in her ear: until she killed Jess.

Athena grips the chipped counter, shoulders slumping. Time hasn’t eased the guilt, and it’s too great a grief to burden Janey. There’s no gentle way to tell your girlfriend that you murdered your sister, that you started taking antidepressants only after your broke all your other supports. Athena’s pills are where Janey can see them, if Janey cares to look, and that’s the closest that Athena has come to informing her.

Athena bites her lip and tastes blood.

She only has twelve pills left, and no idea where to get more.

. . .

Janey’s alarm rings. Athena slides out of bed and pulls on her fuzzy ducky socks while Janey smashes the snooze button and reburies herself under the blankets. Janey’s not a morning person until she gets her coffee, but Athena’s always been an early riser. The fuzzy ducky socks were a gift for their one-month anniversary (“monthaversary!”) and if giggling at little yellow duckies brightens Janey’s mornings, well. Athena will gladly wear them for the rest of her life.

Athena brushes her teeth, and the coffee’s already dripping as Athena enters the kitchen. She flips on the lightbox—Hollow Point’s too dark for sunshine—and washes her hands. Turns on the stove, sprays a pan. Cracks two eggs, one in each hand, with a quick rap on the counter before popping them in the pan. It’s a silly flourish, but Janey likes silly, so Athena does it every time. Even if Janey’s not watching.

It’s muscle memory worn smooth; just like she can strip and clean her guns in her sleep, she can do this. Plain white toast on the highest setting, almost burnt the way Janey likes it. Eggs done over easy, easier than easy—so light that once Athena flips them, she immediately slides them out of the pan and on to the toast. One ceremonial twist of course-ground black pepper. By the time Janey zombies her way to the kitchen, Athena’s already set the plate and poured two mugs of coffee.

Janey plunks herself into the chair and slurps from a pink mug pasted with gun-toting teddy bears. Athena takes her pill bottle from the cabinet, tiny plasticky capsules whispering over one another as flips the vial upside-down. The pill sticks to her tongue before she musters enough saliva to swallow, so she takes a sip of coffee to wash it down. The coffee’s still too hot to properly drink, even if Janey’s slurping hers with gusto, but at least they have fifteen minutes together for Janey to eat breakfast and to bask in the wan glow of the therapy light. Then it’s a goodbye kiss, Janey out the door and Athena drinking the last inch of coffee from the bottom of Janey’s mug.

Athena breathes in through her nose. Exhales through her mouth.

Eleven pills left.

She changes into her workout clothes, steps out, and double-checks the lock. She taps the door frame three times before she starts jogging.

Hollow Point is grey on grey, a city in perpetual twilight. The shadows blur into one another like smears of gunpowder, and Athena lets herself fall into the familiar rhythm of her feet hitting the pavement, fists loose and swinging as she makes two circuits around the neighborhood. There’s enough juice to keep the lights going all the time, but most residents follow the same day/night cycle to pretend at some kind of normal. Athena hops a crack in the pavement, then taps the second post of a chain-link fence that encircles an abandoned playground. Athena’s never seen children playing, but she once saw a red ribbon laced through the chain and looped into a bow, so that’s reason enough to consider the fence ‘lucky.’ For some definition of luck, at least.

When Athena gets home, she takes a shower and thinks about eating. She has no appetite, but mechanically chews a cold bologne sandwich with a single wilted lettuce leaf for fuel. The plate goes in the washer, and then Athena goes to Moxxi’s to scour the jobs board.

She has guns and muscle, but she’s no longer a bounty hunter—so she forces herself to ignore the more lucrative contracts, and instead focus on security and odd jobs. There’s not enough payout, there never is, but Moxxi slides her a glass of water and Athena drinks gratefully. They know each other well enough now that Moxxi never offers anything stronger, because Athena doesn’t drink, but sometimes Moxxi will toss in a lime when she’s feeling festive. Athena’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be drinking while on her meds, but it’s easier to play up the ‘paranoid mercenary’ angle, to sit with her back to the wall and facing the door while sipping a decidedly non-alcoholic beverage.

Booze is a type of medication too, technically. Which would be great if it _worked_ , but Athena’s even moodier drunk than sober. So she spends too long at the bar nursing three waters before heading home.

She could always visit Dr Zed, maybe.

Or maybe not; he _still_ hasn’t cleaned the blood spatter from the walls.

Nurse Nina’s probably a better option.

Or she could visit the med vendor again. Even though they didn’t have Athena’s meds last time, the stock might have changed—

Ultimately, Athena does not check. It’s easier to have hope than disappointment.

So when Janey comes home after work, Athena’s already scrubbed the house and Janey kisses her hello before washing her hands. Janey always has dirt under her nails and grease on her palms, but she makes a ritual of cleaning it off with bright pink soap and a tiny nail brush. Janey insists on clean hands before touching Athena, always says Athena deserves it. Athena doesn’t always believe her, but Janey deserves to believe in it even when Athena doesn’t.

If breakfast is Athena’s chance to play homemaker, dinner is Janey’s. Janey turns on the staticky radio and sings along, making up words when the lyrics go fuzzy. She checks the menu magnet on the fridge—scribbled and erased so many times that previous meals are faintly visible beneath the current one—and bustles along to boil water and mince garlic and all the other bits of choreography that go into cooking. She’s the one who makes this house a home, from the bright posters hung askew to the wilting flowers in a chipped blue vase. She even clips the stack of bills together so they’re less intimidating, the ‘past due’ stamp obscured with a smiling post-it reminding them to pay it off next week.

Athena has no pretty words or gestures, and all her love comes out in stutters. She loves Janey like a habit, one she can’t remember starting—wash her face, brush her teeth, love Janey. She can only show her love through service, taking away each dirty pan and setting the table and washing up afterwards. She counts order in the crisp lines of folded towels, in harsh soap on cheap plates. It’s a love that inspires clean towels and swept floors and if that’s all the poetry that’s in her soul, so be it. She loves Janey.

Janey pecks Athena on the cheek, then goes to take a shower. Athena starts the dishwasher, sets the coffee, and takes one last look at her pill bottle.

Eleven pills.

Athena steps into the shower with Janey, and oh—routine is underrated, so underrated. They soap each other down, then perform that awkward dance of two people sharing one nozzle as they rinse. Hot water, cold air, hot water; Athena’s nipples harden, which has nothing to do with arousal but makes Janey’s eyes light up anyway. They turn off the water, stumble out of the shower and towel each other off. It’s ineffective as a drying technique, but _very_ effective for brushing warm hands across breasts, bellies, and thighs. They take a break from making out just long enough to brush their teeth, then fall into bed with the ease of long practice.

This, too, is something Athena hasn’t told Janey—Athena still gets all the physical responses, her clit hard and wet and her body flushed, but she doesn’t get _aroused_ the way Janey does. She can’t even remember anymore if she was always this way, or if it’s the antidepressants clamping down on her libido. It doesn’t matter anyway when she loves to focus on Janey. Janey is so responsive, eyes wide as she grips Athena’s bicep, giving a breathless squeak when Athena flips her over, pressing her on the bed, but—

“Love, love, let me. Let me touch you, please,” Janey whines, so Athena sits up and rolls over, letting Janey straddle her hips.

Janey goes slow, achingly so, tender as a new bruise. She nuzzles at Athena’s neck, then kisses her behind the ear with a soft touch of breath and chapped lips before melting into Athena’s mouth. Athena has to remind herself to respond, to relax her jaw and move her lips so it’s not just a mash of teeth. There’s always tension, even here—holding back, afraid to hurt Janey, to crush her with the gravity of her love. Athena doesn’t know how or why Janey chose to share her life, her bed, and Athena hasn’t had anyone to lose in so long—

Janey wraps her hands around Athena’s wrists, and Athena loves the rough callus of her palms, the wiry strength in her fingers. Athena could break free, could easily overwhelm Janey even from this position, but submits to these tender ministrations as Janey kisses her way down Athena’s chest, ticklish-smooth as her breath ghosts over a nipple, as her tongue swirls and warms over puckered flesh. Athena groans, cants her hips and tries to bump against Janey, to get some tiny bit of friction against her clit, but Janey wriggles in evasion before letting go of Athena’s hands to squirm lower. Janey sits between her legs, licking and sucking the tender skin where groin meets thigh.

Athena bites her lip and grips the pillow, elbows jabbing upward as she curls, fists clenched with the effort of restraint. She doesn’t like making noise, doesn’t like feeling vulnerable like this, trembling with the effort to keep her knees parted, her thighs still, to avoid crushing Janey’s sweet face between her legs.

“Mouth or vibe?”

It takes Athena a few moments to even register the question, so Janey repeats herself and Athena answers ‘vibe.’

There’s always that moment of delay, that awkward shuffle as Janey hops up to pull Athena’s favorite vibrator from the nightstand, and that extra half-moment as Janey squirts lube and rubs it in, and then ohgod, ohgodohgodohgod it’s a little bit like dying and a lot more like reviving as Janey presses hard and cranks up the vibe. Athena’s moan turns to a scream as the vibrator peaks into a high-pitched buzz, and it’s so hard it _hurts_ , but Athena’s orgasm breaks out of her in a crash of sweat and limbs and half-choked “enough! enough!” before Janey flicks off the vibe and tosses it aside.

Janey’s so _proud_ , face pink and tongue peeking over her teeth, eyes bright as stars, but Athena’s grateful that’s all over because now _she_ gets to touch and please Janey, to flip her over and cover every inch of Janey’s body with her own. She maps Janey with tongue, fingers, lips. Over and over, like a scout on unfamiliar terrain. Contours, hills, valleys, peaks. Athena kisses with more diligence than passion, more patience than desire—but she loves to see Janey happy, loves to _make_ Janey happy, and so she tries her best.

“Mouth or vibe?” Athena asks, mumbling the words into the warmth of Janey’s belly.

“Mouth. And fingers,” Janey says, with all the easy certainty that Athena still doesn’t feel.

So Athena kisses her hips, her thighs, nibbles over the jut of Janey’s hip-bones and licks the little dimples where thighs meet pelvis. She slips two fingers into Janey’s wet heat, tongue hard on Janey’s clit, uses her thumb to tug the hood and her lips to wrap and provide more pressure. She loves the feel of Janey all around her, Janey’s knees hooked over her shoulders and Janey’s thighs mashed against Athena’s cheeks, the hot-silk feel of Janey wrapped around her fingers and even the cramp in her wrist as she curves, bends, sends Janey over the edge, over and over until Janey’s smiling, sweaty, exhausted.

Janey likes sleeping naked, but Athena doesn’t, so they take a quick break from cuddling to let Athena get dressed—not much, just a shirt and underwear—before sliding back into bed. Janey’s all radiant heat but still gets so _cold_ that she sleeps wrapped against Athena, knees curled so her frozen toes can warm themselves between Athena’s legs. Athena tucks the blankets up to their chin, then overhead as Janey buries her cold nose in Athena’s shoulder.

Their shared breath warms the cozy hollows of the bed as they fall asleep.

. . .

Then next morning, Athena makes breakfast and pours the coffee, takes her pill, and sits with Janey in front of their little lightbox before kissing her goodbye. She then cleans the pans, wipes the counters, empties the dishwasher, and does all the other small things that are only delaying the conversation she doesn’t want to have. She even thinks about whether to go for her jog before calling.

Finally Athena just pinches her nose and spins through her list of contacts, like bullets in a chamber. Before Athena can say anything, Nina’s voice booms out.

“Hello, Athena! Long time no see! You not on Elpis anymore, ha? Good, good! Jack is asshole. You still with Janey?”

Athena relaxes. Slightly. “Yes, Nina. Are you still courting Timber Logwood?”

“Oh, he still hanging around.” Nina laughs. “Too handsome to kill!”

Athena takes a deep breath through her nostrils. Small talk has never been her strong suit, and it’s only blocking the bigger questions.

“Nina, I—I think I need some help.”

Nina’s voice sharpens, suddenly clinical. “You hurt? Losing blood?”

“No, it’s—it’s my meds. My antidepressants. The med vendors here don’t carry it, and I need—” Athena swallows. “I’m sorry. I only have ten days left.”

A long pause.

When Nina finally speaks, it’s crushingly gentle. “Nina understand. Is hard to ask for help. Give me list of meds from local vendor, let me know dose. Nina help find options.”

Athena swallows the sudden lump in her throat. “Thank you, Nina.”

“Is not always easy, Athena. We talk options, side effects later. But you are friend, not just patient. Nina will help.”

Athena gives her the name and dose of her current medication, and is saved from having to figure out how to end the conversation as a half-mauled patient hops their way into Nina’s clinic and bleeds all over the floor. With a relieved sigh, she goes for her jog.

The cityscape of gray on gray suits her mood. She had never meant to keep this secret from Janey, not on purpose, but the more time that passes the greater a betrayal it will feel if Janey finds out and _thinks_ it means secrets—

Time’s slipping through her fingers, and Athena’s trying to save the moment.

Athena runs the script in her head, wonders if it would be easier if she took Janey on a date. Something small, something sweet. Take her on a picnic in the playground. Push Janey on the swings, dangle from the monkey bars. Athena never got to play like that as a child, instead recruited into Atlas for training. Perhaps she and Jess could have pushed each other on the swings, balanced one another on the seesaw—

But Jess is dead, and Athena can’t rewrite those memories. Maybe pushing Janey on the swings can replace them, somehow. Cover it over like sidewalk chalk.

If the switch goes well, maybe Athena won’t _need_ to tell Janey. 

Athena goes to the med vendor again, and looks past the usual things: insta-health vials, shields, med kits. She goes straight for the pills. There’s an aching familiarity with them; the stims, the sleep aids, all the little ‘helpers’ that she and the rest of her squad had taken as Lance Assassins. The stims made her teeth jangle, made her sweat ammonia, made her heart race, made everything overwhelming, overwhelming, so that coffee became a tame thing in contrast. The sleep pills gave her cottonmouth and such a hangover that she _needed_ the stims, then needed the sleep pills, then needed the stims, and it became a vicious ouroboros that she switched out as soon as she could.

Now Athena wonders how much of it was truly necessary, how much was yet another way for General Knoxx to control them.

Sometimes she wonders if her medication is another type of addiction. She remembers being told that it’s not her fault, that it’s a matter of brain chemistry—it’s not an addiction for a diabetic to be on insulin, and it’s not an addiction if her own brain won’t retain serotonin. She had hoped it would be temporary, just a type of neurochemical reconstruction after Jess’ death, but they’ve become another part of the new normal.

The vendor doesn’t have a lot of options. Chems that don’t make you feel good—at least not right away, or that require titration and maintenance before you _can_ feel good—aren’t as popular on Pandora, even if they’re available without a prescription. Athena still dutifully notes the names and dosages, then messages them to Nina along with her current medication.

Then she turns off her communicator.

There. She won’t worry about it until tomorrow.

She checks the job boards out of more habit than hope, and stops by Moxxi’s. Athena doesn’t feel like chatting, doesn’t even feel like taking her usual glass of water and sitting in the corner, but it’s part of her routine so she does it anyway.

Moxxi gives her a sympathetic look, at least as much as Athena can tell under the makeup. “It’s not bounty hunter money, but if you ever want to work security for ladies’ night…” Moxxi shrugs. “It’s mostly booting boys and grabbing puke buckets. You’re free to boot them into the buckets, though.”

It’s not bounty hunter money, but it’s still _money_. The bills keep piling, and Janey’s job can only cover so much—

Athena nods.

It’s only once a week, but it’s a start.

. . .

Janey’s late.

The walls squeeze in on Athena as she paces the kitchen, scrubs the counters, sweeps the floor, all while agonizing over the clock. She strips the sheets from the bed, bundles everything into the washer, starts the cycle, then realizes that it’ll take an hour in the washer and another in the dryer and if they’re still damp it’ll be _another_ cycle and that means they won’t be able to go to bed until it’s done—

Should she call? Would that be too clingy, too suffocating?

Or is she failing by _not_ calling, not showing that she loves Janey enough to worry?

Athena pulls up Janey’s number three times, each time clicking away in agony. Has Janey finally grown tired of her?

Maybe that’s the problem, the problem’s Athena and always has been. Pills can’t fix her, Janey can’t fix her, and Janey’s _not_ a pill, she has her own life and Athena’s just a rainy-day cloud blotting out Janey’s sunshine. Maybe Athena _can’t_ be fixed, and it’s stupid to even try—

No, not stupid. Janey’s worth trying for.

Athena’s heart lurches up her throat as she opens her phone (again) and clicks Janey’s picture (smiling, tongue out, hands curved to make a heart), and she hears the phone ring—

Right outside the door.

Athena sprints, not even bothering to check the peephole as she slams the door open. Janey’s outside, smiling sheepishly with a bag of groceries in each hand, and Athena would smash kisses all over her face if she weren’t choking down misplaced panic, so instead she scoops the groceries from Janey and bustles back into the kitchen. She blots her eyes with the back of her hand, turned so Janey can’t see just how stupid she’s been.

Janey’s arrival transforms the four walls and peeling linoleum into a _home_. Her sunshine suffuses the air around her; she breathes life into everything, and Athena responds. Even the droopy flowers on the table perk up.

“Sorry I’m late! I was shopping for an extra-special breakfast tomorrow!”

“You forgot to call,” Athena says, too numb for accusation. It comes out gruffer than she means it, and she would cringe at how it sounds except for the fact that her face seems paralyzed.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, love.” Janey’s warm arms press around her, Janey hugging her from behind. Athena’s hip digs into the counter, but she stands there, savoring the feel of Janey’s body against hers, the physical presence of her girlfriend who’s finally come home. “I meant to call, I really did. I just forgot, and I know it’s not an excuse, so let me make it up to you, okay? Crepes for dessert, maybe?”

 _You’re sweeter than crepes,_ Athena says, or wants to say, but that would be too pathetic after having gotten so obviously worked up over Janey being late, so instead she says, “That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home.”

“Oh! And you _cleaned_!” Janey coos, inspecting the kitchen. “You even cleaned out the oven, thank you! And I hear laundry going!”

“Yeah. I put our sheets in the wash.”

“Awesome! Thank you so much, this is _great!_ ” Janey drops her voice low, wriggling against Athena’s shoulder. Her breath kisses Athena’s ear as she murmurs, “I _love_ dirtying up clean sheets, know what I mean?”

“Maybe I don’t?” Athena says, trying not to break. Trying to play along.

“I mean I’d love to make love on those fresh sheets.” Janey brushes her lips over Athena’s neck, then scootches away with a giggle. “But first, I owe you dinner!”

Athena tries to help, but Janey flicks her with a dish-towel to shoo her out of the kitchen. Athena busies herself with transferring the sheets from the washer to the dryer, then comes back to find Janey cutting potatoes into wedges. She sidles up to Janey, awkwardly standing arms-length away, and coughs.

“You’re allowed to sit down, you know! Tell me about your day!”

“Are you sure I can’t help? I mean, you’ve already been working at your job all day, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to.”

“And I want to help.”

Janey gives a little huff through her nose, then leans sideways. Athena stands, unsure of what to do, until Janey juts her chin and gives a come-hither crook of her finger, and then Athena gladly stands next to Janey with her arms around her as Janey finishes the potato.

“Okay, so if you grab the oil and a baking sheet...”

Athena obediently grabs the items, and tosses the potato wedges with salt and pepper as Janey starts cutting broccoli. Janey scrunches her nose at the florets, but says, “Greens are good, right? Need something besides meat and potatoes.”

“Potatoes are an excellent source of vitamins C and B-6,” Athena says automatically. Lance Assassins were responsible for their own nutritional needs when out in the field, and Athena still has the manuals memorized.

“Ooh, that’s good.” Janey lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What about fairy bread? Any secret vitamins in that?”

“What’s fairy bread?”

“White bread slabbed with butter and hundreds and thousands.”

“Hundreds and thousands of what?”

“Like...sprinkles? But round? It’s real popular at kids’ parties.”

“Um.” Athena draws a blank.

Janey laughs, putting the potatoes in the oven with a blast of heat. “Come on, don’t you have any favorite foods from when you were a kid?”

Athena has to struggle with memories from before being recruited, but…

“Tea cakes? I don’t remember the recipe, just smashing walnuts with a rolling pin.” _With my sister_. “After they came out of the oven, we’d roll them in powdered sugar. They ended up looking like little snowballs.”

“Ooh, that sounds good. We should make them sometime, yeah?”

Athena smiles. It feels brittle and unpracticed, like it might crack at any moment, but—

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

. . .

The next morning, Athena slips out of bed but doesn’t kiss Janey, afraid she might wake from her gentle snores. Athena leaves a note on the fridge (“gone jogging”) and takes her pill before leaving the house.

She makes it as far as the empty playground before her phone rings.

“Good morning, Athena! Nina take look at meds. We lucky! Have pills in same family as current prescription, no need to wash out or taper down. Can switch right away, if want.”

Nina rattles off side effects, warnings, more things to watch out for, but Athena has her own mental spreadsheet of pills and dosages that didn’t work, didn’t help, some that flattened her to nothing and others that jangled her nerves until she couldn’t sleep, some that stole flavor from her tongue and color from her sky. Nothing is ever as easy as a bullet-point list of adverse drug reactions.

“Athena? You okay?”

“Yes. I’m listening,” Athena says. Voice soft, palm cupped over the earpiece. “I’m sorry. Just taking notes.”

“Is good idea. You keep journal?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Maybe start again. So can make baseline, adjust if necessary.”

Athena nods, not that Nina can see it. This isn’t surgery, no tidy rows of stitches over a clean cut. It’s gunshot and shrapnel, messy.

There’s no such thing as healing without scars, but it beats an autopsy.

. . .

When Athena comes home, Janey’s already buzzing around the kitchen like a blonde hummingbird. The griddle’s shiny with grease and butter, two eggs and sausages already on each plate as Janey cuts enormous muffins into horizontal thirds and dredges them through the melted butter to toast them on both sides. Athena obediently takes a seat, sipping her coffee as Janey finishes cooking.

The muffins turn out to be blueberry, though the ‘blue’ might be food coloring, the flavor tinny and artificial. They still taste like bites of heaven. Athena tries taking a balanced approach to her plate—one bite sausage, one bite egg, one bite muffin—before a yolk breaks and bleeds across the plate, so she sops it up with the muffin and simply enjoys it, with an occasional sip of bitter coffee to sluice through all the rich flavors.

“How was your jog?”

“Good. Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” Janey grins, a bit of yolk spattered over her lower lip. Athena leans over to wipe it with her thumb, but Janey tugs Athena’s thumb into her mouth, lips wrapped around it with a warm suck and tongue swirling, and well—

This is another part of the weekend ritual, slow kisses and lingering touches as they clean the table. Janey’s fingers brush Athena’s as Janey passes her the dishes, and Athena loads the dishwasher while Janey’s soft hums caress her ear and Janey’s clever hands find their way up the back of Athena’s shirt, thumbs hooked into the fabric and rucking up the material—

They end up having to wash the sheets again, but it’s worth it.

. . .

Janey keeps journals. She has stacks of them on her nightstand: notebooks overflowing with ideas for children’s books, perforated pages of graphing paper with designs for new weapons or machine mods, a glitter-covered dream diary and a locked leather journal with tiny pink post-its tabbed out at odd angles. She even carries a tiny yellow memo-book for her to-do list.

“I like to write,” she said once, when Athena asked. “There’s something _physical_ about ink on paper. Plus, nothing says ‘done’ like crossing something off a to-do list!”

Athena briefly considers keeping an audio log to narrate her day, but decides against it. Some ghosts don’t need breath.

So she selects a plain black composition book with ruled paper, one from Janey’s hoard of unused notebooks. If Janey’s mind fizzes with constant fireworks, then Athena’s is dull as radio static.

Journaling isn’t therapy, but maybe it can be therapeutic.

Athena blocks out five minutes in the morning, before Janey wakes. Before Athena might have to explain what she’s doing.

The words come stiffly. Her pen blots the page, leaving pools of ink from resting too long. She is terse, methodical. Events without details, specifics without emotion. This is a contour without shading, but if Nina says it can help—

_I have 9 (nine) pills left._

The sentence stares at her from the page. Accusatory.

Athena tries again.

_I have a week and a half left of medication._

That doesn’t feel any better.

_I don’t like ~~taking~~ having to take medication._

Athena taps her pen against the page. It leaves a dot.

There had been multiple trials, with varying side effects. There had been the one that dried her mouth and made everything taste like aluminum, the one that emptied her stomach every morning, the one that shrouded her in cotton and made every day feel like wading through molasses. Maybe she should have shared those with Nina, but it felt like defeat to say ‘I failed these meds’’ when the meds had failed _her_.

This one works.

Maybe she had been hoping that Nina had some secret cache, that it would be as simple as calling in a favor in exchange for a lifetime of _herself_.

She doesn’t want to _need_ medication, but if she can’t keep her current prescription…

She taps her pen against the page. Two dots.

_Do I need to keep taking medication?_

The question lingers even after she closes the journal. It’s her silent partner on her morning run, and hovers over her shoulder as she cooks breakfast. The mind is mutable, and it’s been years now since Jess’ death. What if her mental architecture has restructured, what if the risk of _change_ is greater than the risk of _no_ medication?

Athena delays thinking about it, and distracts herself with rituals. She’s built up a pattern of superstitions, tiny prayers worn into habit.

She flips her pill bottle over after she takes her dose in the morning, flips it back upright when she sets the coffee at night. The capsules whisper over one another like bad dreams.

She taps the doorframe three times before leaving, and that means she’ll come home safe. Jump every crack in the asphalt, and her Aspis will block the next bullet. Wash the forks after dinner, wipe the tines dry, or Janey won’t see how much Athena loves her.

She can’t lock herself from the world, can’t shutter the windows of her heart, but she controls what she can.

. . .

Athena counts down the pills in the bottle, the slow tick of the inevitable.

One week.

Five days.

She starts taking them every other day, stretching them out. Just a little.

She’s in control.

. . .

She has no pills left, but she’s fine. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with her anymore, maybe having Janey is enough. Janey is her sunshine in Hollow Point, her bright in the dark. Janey guides her like a tracer.

She’s in control.

She’s fine.

. . .

One day off the medication. She’s doing fine.

. . .

Two days off. Still doing fine.

Athena buys two bottles of sprinkles—’hundreds and thousands’—after her morning jog and hides them in the pantry where her pill bottle used to be.

. . .

Three days. She starts to let herself breathe again. Kisses Janey hello in the evening, laughs. Does security for Moxxi. It’s easy money, even if it’s not much. She gets free ginger ale all night, with tiny lime wedges.

Maybe she should have tapered off a long time ago.

. . .

Fourth day, her libido flares.

Athena’s always been able to _respond_ to Janey, but was never much for initiation. It’s strange and wonderful and takes a few moments for Athena to recognize that edge, that heat, the sudden throb of wet and hard and her body singing itself awake. She pushes Janey against the wall when Janey comes home, swallows Janey’s squeak in a kiss. Hungry. Kissing. Mouth against mouth, dragging Janey’s lip between her teeth, sucking and leaving a long wet moan as she grinds her thigh between Janey’s legs, up against the core of her.

“Oof! This isn’t—what got into you?” Janey laughs, breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair sticking up in the back.

Athena nips her ear. “Nothing. Just loving you.”

Athena carries Janey to bed and rosses her on the mattress. Janey mewls, protests that she should wash her hands, but—

“I want to make you come so hard you can’t feel your legs.”

Janey’s eyes go wide, her mouth in a pink ‘O’ of surprise, and she nods.

Athena strips her, starting from the toes. She undoes Janey’s boots with a few tugs before yanking them off. The socks follow. Then belt, then trousers. Everything falls to the floor in bits, pieces. Folded in on themselves at odd angles. Janey’s bra is the last, and Athena doesn’t bother watching it land before she dives between Janey’s legs, hooking Janey’s knees over her shoulders as she bites kisses along Janey’s inner thighs, drags her tongue through Janey’s wet folds. She eats Janey out until her mouth’s sore, until her jaw aches, until Janey’s slick-smeared all over her mouth and Janey’s collapsed on herself in a boneless puddle. Athena kisses her neck, her ear, breathes in the fresh sweat and sex of her layered over the grease and motor oil.

After, Athena guides Janey to the shower, soaps her back and between her thighs. She shampoos Janey’s hair for her, massages the lather into her scalp. Washes her clean, precious, soft. Towels her down and carries her back to bed.

This is fine. This is more than fine. This is _perfect_.

. . .

One week now. No pills.

She’s breathing shallow, staring at the ceiling. Janey’s curled against her side, heavy on the mattress. Athena’s nerves jangle. Jangle. Discord. Like brass keys rattling her bones. Everything locked down, locked away, can’t wake Janey, can’t wake Janey—

Can’t sleep. Eyes open, dry. Staring at a ceiling in the dark with cracks and jagged edges that she’s already memorized, black on grey on white on grey on shadows under her eyelids.

Can’t stay awake. Tired. Didn’t sleep, so take a nap after breakfast. Just for an hour. Two hours. Three.

Wake up. Go to the bathroom. Mouth dry. Drink water. Throw it back up.

Back to bed. Sleep until dinner.

Make excuse. “It’s the flu.”

It’s the first time she ever lied to Janey.

Janey makes cup after cup of peppermint tea for Athena. It scalds her mouth, but it’s more than she’s felt all day, something hot and hurtful over the cold numbness of her own body. She’d drink more if she could, punish herself for lying to Janey, but that would require asking Janey to make more and poor Janey’s already suffered enough with Athena for a partner—

Can’t sleep. Lie awake, stare at the ceiling.

Repeat.

She fakes her way through breakfast, drinks coffee with Janey and goes jogging. Throws up battery acid halfway down the block. Goes home. Folds herself inside the bed.

She’s not hungry. She eats because it’s expected, because Janey fusses at her otherwise. Janey has to go to work, can’t stay fussing over her all day, can’t leave when there are bills piling and the rent for their little apartment and Scooter’s kind but _he_ has bills and god but Athena’s just a pile of _shit_ if she’s going to weigh Janey down like this so—

“Go to work,” Athena says, and she means it, she does, she loves Janey and even though Janey deserves so much better than a murderer, Athena’s too selfish to give her up. Maybe Janey will give up on her first, and Athena’s last gift can be to let Janey control their ending.

So Janey goes out and Athena stares at the wall and Hollow Point has no sunlight so Athena’s just left to imagine it punching through the slats, climbing up the bed and prying at her with burning fingers.

She tries to journal. She writes the date. Time. Taps her pen against the page. Day of the week.

Finally, she writes.

_Not good._

Stares at the page.

Draws a long, gouged line through the rest of the sheet.

Closes the book.

Goes to bed.

. . .

_Not good._

She gets dressed for her morning jog, but on the first step out the door the dark not-sky of Hollow Point presses on her like a tank’s tread.

She goes back in and skips jogging.

_. . ._

_Not good._

She stops jogging.

_. . ._

She stops writing.

. . .

Athena’s phone rings, and she checks to see if it’s Janey.

It’s not, so she ignores it.

Ignore.

Ignore.

Ignore.

. . .

Athena holds herself together until she can’t. Until Janey comes home and Athena’s still in bed, slick-sick with sweat and inertia and the sheer weight of her own skin and there are eight missed calls and her eyes are too heavy to stay open but sleep won’t come and—

“What’s wrong, love?” Janey asks. Careful. Soft.

It’s the kindness that stabs, the way she sits on the mattress and it dips beneath her weight as she strokes Athena’s shoulder, pets and gentles her and Athena would die for her but living is so much harder—

“Nothing.” This second lie is no easier than the first.

Janey takes a deep breath. Shivers through her nostrils.

Then, delicate as a surgeon’s needle, Janey says, “Nina called.”

Athena’s breath stops. Or maybe her lungs. Stupid, stupid. She should have known. Couldn’t hide this forever, couldn’t—

“Nina said—she said that you were on medication. And it changed. And maybe—maybe it’s not helping you the way it should.”

Athena’s lied twice to her already, and maybe a third time will make it all easier, but—

“No,” she croaks. “I stopped.”

“Why?”

“I thought I was fixed.”

Janey strokes her shoulder, gentle, and Athena wants to tell Janey to stop petting her, to stop _moving_ , to just press her palm against Athena’s skin and let Athena soak up that tiny bit of warmth, but that would require so many words—

“How long have you stopped?”

Athena’s memory has been so clear, so perfect, but now she can’t remember. Days fold into the gray like unwashed blankets, day and night and the perpetual twilight of Hollow Point.

“A week. Or two. I didn’t stop all at once. I was trying to be responsible, Janey, I swear.” The tears come now, in the way they didn’t when Jess died. Traitors, slinking to the field after the battle’s lost. “I was trying. I’m not good at it. You should—you should leave. While you still can.”

“Why should I leave?”

“Because I hurt people.” The confession feels like gravel in her throat. Mouth thick. Cobwebs on her tongue. “I—”

“No.” Janey squeezes Athena’s bicep, firm pressure on her arm. “If you want to leave, that’s one thing. But you don’t get to tell me to give up on you.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.”

It comes out in cracked whispers. Hoarse. All the things she could never say, never thought she had to say. She loves Janey, but loving someone means that you don’t want to bother them, don’t want to trouble them. But if she doesn’t trouble Janey then it’s goodbye and Athena loves her and she can’t leave her, can’t say goodbye, it has to be Janey who says goodbye because Athena can’t break herself in half anymore—

Her hands shake. Tremble. Janey tries to give her tea but Athena’s teeth click against the mug as she shakes, so violent she might chip a tooth or cut her lip, so Janey takes it away. Janey holds her hands and squeezes them like she can feel the cold seeping through Athena’s bones, like she’s trying to press some life and normalcy back into her.

When Athena tells Janey about Jess, Athena can’t look at her face. Only stares at their hands, still linked. Janey’s hands, the thick pads of callus on the palms and fingers. The black gunk under her nails. The way she still smells of grease and engine oil. The blonde hairs dusting her knuckles. This might be the last time they hold hands, so Athena needs to remember. Remember this, for when she has nothing at all.

“I am so sorry,” Janey whispers. “I can’t imagine—I’m so sorry they did that to you. That you—”

“I did it to her. _I_ did it to _her_ , no matter who gave the orders.” Her voice breaks, shatters. “I don’t _get_ to be forgiven, Janey. I don’t _deserve_ —”

“Is that what Jess would want?”

“You never even _met_ her,” Athena snaps, and she knows it’s the wrong thing as soon as it leaves her mouth, but anger’s better than numbness and she’d rather grab coals than feel nothing at all. “You don’t know what she wants either.”

Janey’s mouth tightens. Her lip trembles. And her eyes may be welling up with tears, or maybe it’s the tears in Athena’s own eyes blurring everything, but—

“Okay. So I don’t. So tell me how we’re gonna make it better.”

Athena gives a choked gasp. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I _can_ make it better.”

Janey squeezes her hand. Still holding. Still there. Silent.

Two women, mourning. For those they lost, and those they’re losing.

Finally, Janey asks, “I never knew—how bad was it?” Voice soft. Hesitant.

“I never wanted to kill myself, if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s defensive. Athena knows that. But Janey deserves better, so she tries again. “But if I could have died, without trying? ‘Want’ is too strong, but....I wouldn’t have cared if I died.”

Words fail, curling on her tongue.

Janey squeezes Athena’s hands. Still warm. Still holding.

“I think—I think we need to talk more,” Janey says softly. “If you want to go back on medication, we can do that. We can make it happen. But I really think we should talk, too.”

“It’s not fair for you, having to deal with me.”

“Athena—you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. We’re a _team_.”

Athena squeezes her hand, white-knuckled. “Promise you’re not staying just because I’m broken.”

“I love you, Athena. Please. Believe me.”

And Athena believes her, because she’s always believed in Janey even when she couldn’t believe in herself.

. . .

Athena broke slow, until she broke fast. She knows better than to believe in miracles.

So Janey buys a month’s supply of the new medication and fixes tea and toast for Athena in the mornings, and gives her a pill—these capsules are smaller than her old ones, a dark blue that looks green through the amber vial, and Athena tries to think of them as the new normal—followed by two gummy vitamins.

“Didja know that gummies don’t have iron in ‘em?” Janey asks, chewing around a non-medicinal amount of gummies.

Athena shakes her head.

“‘Strue.” Janey swallows noisily, then licks her lips. “Nina told me that it’s because if you eat too much iron it can poison you. And who can stop at _two_ gummies?”

Athena snorts, unsure whether that was a joke.

“So I’m gonna feed you chock-full of vitamins and love until you are well enough to stop me.”

. . .

Janey adjusts her work hours, works out some kind of deal with Scooter—Athena’s afraid to ask for details, not with the clipped stack of bills still growing—and starts walking with Athena every morning. Athena still taps the doorway on the way out, and Janey grins, rapping out ‘shave and a haircut, two bits’ on the wall next to her.

Walking with Janey takes a different rhythm than Athena’s solo jogs. Details dilate; some distances feel longer than others. She notices things that had previously been blurs.

There are tiny mushrooms growing in the pavement, and faded numbers along the grey streets. There is the damp smell of life, even down here in the caves. There are new chalk drawings at the playground and a deflated balloon hanging off the swings.

Janey talks, like she’s afraid of the silence, like chatter’s a charm to keep the bad things away. Athena can’t keep up; she’s quiet even at the best of times, and has always enjoyed listening more than talking. She answers when Janey asks, but it takes several weeks before it finally clicks:

Janey’s afraid of losing her.

“I’m always afraid I’m boring you, I’m sorry,” Janey confides, one of the days that they walk to the playground and sit side-by-side on the swings, a shared thermos of coffee on the ground between them. “You’ve seen and done _so_ many cool things, and I’m just in my junk shop all the time, boring as bread.”

“Bread’s not boring,” Athena says, tapping the ground with one foot. The chain creaks overhead. “You make fairy bread with it.”

Janey smiles, “You’re my hundreds and thousands, then.” Then she laughs, and teaches Athena how to push herself on the swing. Legs kicking, body rocking with the effort of momentum—it’s not hard, once you get the trick of it. It quickly becomes a competition, both women aiming to go higher than the other, but they soon give up working _against_ one another when it turns out to be so much easier to work _with_ one another, taking turns to push each other.

Janey swaps out wilting flowers for fresh ones on the table, then surprises Athena by bringing home a potted rosemary.

“Flowers die, so I thought you might like something more evergreen,” Janey says, setting up a grow lamp next to it. The sharp, piney smell of it fills Athena’s nostrils as she rubs her thumb along the needles.

Together, they make roasted potatoes with fresh garlic and rosemary.

Athena starts journaling again. She had never tried to hide it from Janey, but now she starts sharing it. Not the actual content of those pages—that’s private, sacrosanct, and Janey never asks—but they share that time together. Athena and Janey sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table, pens scratching as they write out their thoughts. Athena uses a plain black ballpoint, the kind with a cap, and Janey uses a four-colored multi-pen that looks too big for her hands. The companionable sounds of scritching accompanies the occasional slurp of tea.

Athena taps her pen against the page, then finishes her entry.

_I’m getting better._

. . .

‘Better’ still isn’t ‘fixed.’ Janey loves fixing things, but Athena isn’t a project to be worked on.

Tensions simmer until they reach the boiling point, until they’re leaning across the counter with gritted teeth and furiously whispering at one another so they won’t wake the neighbors.

“Do you want to count my pills for me? Lay them out in a little calendar to make sure I’m doing everything I’m supposed to?” Athena bites out.

Janey’s eyes narrow, lip trembling and nose scrunching in that furious contortion midway between rage and tears. “I’m not your babysitter, Athena! I’m your _girlfriend_ and I’m _allowed_ to worry—”

“If you’re not my babysitter, then you’re what? My keeper? My parent? I’m sure not your _partner_ when you won’t even share the bills with me—”

“Is that what you think love is? Accounting?”

“It’s _stability_ ,” Athena grits out, surprising herself with her own truth. “You support me, and I want to support you too. But if you think I can’t take care of myself, that you always need to watch me—”

“Oh god no,” Janey whispers, deflating in one long _whoosh_ of exhale. Her eyes start welling up, her nose globby. “That’s not what I meant. I never wanted to make you feel trapped. I don’t—I don’t always know what you want, what you need. I guess because I don’t _know_.”

“What if you ask?”

“I _do_!” Janey says with a hiccup. “But you always say you don’t want to be a bother.”

“But I don’t! And—”

And it hurts too much, the sudden realization as Athena realizes that oh, she’s doing _exactly_ what she always does, swallowing grief and carrying pain until Janey’s locked out, until Athena’s thoughts become a prison and Janey’s consumed in misplaced guilt.

Athena can’t cry, not the way Janey does, but it’s only a few steps around the counter to pull Janey into her arms, fuzzy socks slipping on the linoleum and bodies pressed together, all their lumps and edges squished into a giant hug.

. . .

‘Better’ still isn’t ‘fixed,’ and Athena can’t fix her libido. The pills that lift her depression still clamp down on _that_.

“I’d rather have you happy than horny,” Janey says, cuddled up on the sagging couch. She rubs her thumb across Athena’s knuckles, calluses tickling the soft dips between ridges. “I don’t want to force you into feeling like we _have_ to fuck.”

“It’s not forcing, Janey.” Athena catches Janey’s hand, tugging her by the wrist. “Just because I don’t get horny the same way doesn’t mean that I don’t like having sex. Sometimes I like to take a nibble, even if I’m not hungry, you know?” She punctuates her sentence by kissing Janey’s fingers, nipping the tips.

Janey giggles. “Are you hungry, then?”

“Maybe.” Athena grins. “And I _love_ watching you get full.”

“Is that full, or filled—ah!”

Athena sweeps Janey into her arms, carrying her in a giggling bundle to their bedroom. She drops her on the bed with a laugh, then reaches into the drawer for a pair of black handcuffs lined with garish pink fur. It takes several minutes of squirmy laughter and finally an unfair tickle attack to get Janey velcroed into the cuffs and tied to the bed, arms overhead.

“Safe word is ‘pineapple’?” Athena asks, kissing Janey’s tummy.

“Safe word is ‘pineapple’! Oh, _noooo_!” Janey laughs, rocking sideways in an attempt to escape Athena’s raspberry. Athena pins her down and makes more raspberries. “That tickles!”

“Want me to stop?” Athena asks, peeling up Janey’s top to expose her sports bra.

“Nuh-uh! Didn’t say pineapple!”

Athena hooks her fingers under the edge of Janey’s bra. “But you just said it now!”

“I was just saying that I _didn’t_ say it!” Janey complains, lifting her chest to help Athena wriggle the bra up. If Athena had thought ahead, she might have stripped Janey first...but it’s still hot to see her girlfriend half-dressed and handcuffed to the bed.

“So if I got out my strap-on, would that be a pineapple, or…?”

“Unf. Which toy?”

Athena kisses her nose. “You pick.”

“The black one. The _big_ one.”

“Ooh. Feeling _ambitious_ , are we?”

“I’ve always had big dreams,” Janey says, with as much dignity as she can muster while doing her best to pull off her own socks with her toes.

Athena pulls them off for her, then undoes Janey’s belt and removes her pants and underwear with a jangle of cloth and metal. She takes her time, folding the trousers neatly and placing them on the nightstand, then laying Janey’s boxers on top and rolling up her socks. Janey’s bubbling with impatience, whining at her to just let it _be_ , but Athena hums loudly and pretends to ignore her before wriggling out of her own clothes and getting the strap-on. She takes her time picking out the big black dildo and fitting it snug into the harness. There’s room in the base for a vibe, but Athena doesn’t bother—this round is for Janey, just Janey. Then she cinches the straps and takes a few experimental thrusts, silicone toy bobbing in the air.

“You’re so hot, you know that? All sexy and ‘rawr’ when you have that look on your face. Like you know what you want and you’re _damn_ sure you’re gonna get it,” Janey groans. “I just want you to fuck me. Pound me _hard_.”

“I don’t know. This toy is pretty big,” Athena teases, pumping a generous slick of lube into her hand. She takes her time stroking it over the shaft, watching Janey’s gaze follow her every move. “See how big it is? My fingers can’t even reach around it.”

“Mmf. I know you can make it fit,” Janey whines. “I’m so wet for you already, can’t you see?” She sets her feet flat on the bed, knees bent as she spreads her legs. The warm, musky smell of arousal wafts towards Athena, but Athena grins.

“Better check the oil, then.”

“I’m _not_ a car—!” Janey breaks into a delighted laugh as she thrusts herself on Athena’s fingers, slamming against Athena’s palm as Athena crooks, searching for that special spot and making Janey groan. Athena licks Janey’s clit, just a little—enough to tease, not enough to make Janey come. Just enough to make Janey squirm and whimper, body flexed and the fuzzy handcuffs taut against the headboard as she arches, searching for release. Release that Athena won’t give her, not even when Janey’s sopping down her fingers, lube and arousal dripping into a wet spot on the blanket.

“If you’re not a car, why are you so revved up?”

“Oh my god, Athena, if you keep making dad jokes I’m gonna pineapple right out!”

Athena laughs. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

Janey scrunches her face in mock-fury, then sticks her tongue out. “Please? Fuck me?”

It takes Athena a few tries, the tip sliding away from Janey’s entrance. It rubs through her folds, slick against her wetness, and Janey gasps as it slips between her cheeks—for one moment Athena’s afraid she might have gone into the _wrong_ hole, but thankfully there’s no accidental anal. Intentional anal, maybe later, but for now…

Athena grips the base of her strap, guiding it into Janey’s wet cunt. Janey bites her lip, groaning as Athena eases in, forehead knit in something more like concentration than pleasure, so Athena asks, “Want a pillow under your butt?”

“Yeah, that’ll help.”

Athena slides out again, taking a quick break to slide the pillow under Janey, and they try again. Athena holds herself back, watching the tip slide in. Slow-motion magic, Janey stretched pink and wet around the silicone, inch by inch disappearing inside her body. Athena goes slow, mindful of the size, but it’s a long, smooth stroke and soon Janey’s sighing as Athena tamps herself over her, forearms braced around Janey’s shoulders and hips flush against one another.

“Wow. That’s—wow.” Janey sighs, melting into the bed.

“Want me to start thrusting, or…?”

“Mm.” Janey gives a few experimental wriggles, wrapping her legs around Athena before giving a low groan. “Give me a moment? Just to adjust?”

“Mhm.” Athena kisses her nose, then her mouth, and Janey responds with hungry ferocity. Her mouth opens, drawing Athena’s lip between her teeth, nibbling before sucking on with a suggestive rhythm. Athena takes the hint, rocking her hips in slow echo. It takes a few moments for their body to sync, for Athena to match the pace and bounce of Janey’s hips against hers, but once they get it—

Athena goes fast, hard, _rough_. Just this side of jackhammering, letting her body ricochet off Janey’s as Janey’s knees clamp tight around her, her heels drumming Athena’s ass as a stream of “fuck, fuck, _yes!”_ bounces off the walls, as the bed squeaks and groans in matching symphony. Janey’s eyes scrunch shut, locked tight on some inner bliss, but Athena grunts “baby, baby, look at me, I want you to look at me when you come—” and Janey opens her eyes, pupils blown dark and dreamy and feral all at the same time as she bites out Athena’s name and Athena gives that extra roll of her hip, that extra wriggle in her thrust and that is enough to push Janey over the edge, screaming, screaming—

And Athena keeps going, keeps up the pace until Janey finally bursts out, “Pineapple, pineapple, slow down, let me catch my breath—” and Athena slows down, stops. Stays propped on her knees and forearms, sweat-damp and heaving for breath as Janey’s cooling down, bodies slick and stuck together.

“Oh god, that was great.” Janey sighs, pulling her hands so the cuffs scrape against the headboard. “Can you undo these?”

“Mhm.” Athena kisses her before unfastening the cuffs. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Great. _Amazing_. How do _you_ feel?”

“Amazing.”

Janey wraps an arm around Athena, stroking her hair. “Even if you didn’t…?”

“Mm. I didn’t come, if that’s what you mean. But I _did_ have fun. And making you happy makes _me_ happy.” Athena kisses her nose.

“I feel a little selfish.”

“Maybe love’s a little selfish. I think that’s okay.” Athena groans, sliding out of Janey with reluctance. “Oh man, you creamed all over this thing.”

“Don’t take it off yet! I didn’t say I was _done_ , I just wanted a break!” Janey laughs.

Athena grins. “Anal, next time?”

Janey’s delighted squeal is her answer.

. . .

_Dear diary,_

_Today was normal._

_A perfectly wonderful, normal day._


End file.
